


Of Intervals

by waterfallliam



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Feel-good, Kissing, Multi, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterfallliam/pseuds/waterfallliam
Summary: “You don’t let him on the bed, do you?” Harold asks, suspecting that she does.Shaw crouches to put her arms around Bear, rubbing her cheek into his fur. “He likes to cuddle.” They both look up at him with big eyes.Some feelgood scenes for Team Machine set in early season 3 with established Harold/John and Joss and Sameen's second date.





	Of Intervals

**Author's Note:**

> this started as me wanting to write john and harold spooning and it grew from there. hope you enjoy!

After a long day of surveillance that finally culminated in violence, John is grateful for the message on his phone that contains an address and an X. It’s an invitation from Harold that John readily accepts.

After stopping for food–John had heard Harold eating earlier, over his earpiece–he gets on his motorbike, waves to Shaw, and races over, only breaking the speed limit three times. It’s been that kind of day.

John leaves his motorbike parked in the road, and hastily picks the locks on the front door. He hasn’t been to this safe house before, but from judging from the exterior it certainly looks roomy. Luxurious, even.

He’s not disappointed: the ceilings are high and the carpet is plush. John toes his shoes off in the lobby and hangs his jacket up, trying to make as little noise as possible as he looks for the bedroom–Harold might already be asleep.

“I’m in here,” Harold calls. John follows his voice up the stairs. Only one door has light shining shining through the crack at the bottom. John enters, taking care to close the door behind him. He’s greeted by the sight of Harold reading in bed, already wearing one of his matching pyjama sets, a few soft curls of chest hair peeking out from under the open collar.

“Hey,” John smiles, the day’s exhaustion suddenly weighing a little lighter on his shoulders. He strides over to Harold’s side of the rather large bed and leans in for quick kiss. Harold catches his jaw with his hand and prolongs it. It’s the same desperation Harold always kisses him with after he gets in a fight.

“Shower,” Harold mutters, finally letting John go. “You smell like gasoline.”

“I agree,” Johns says, not a fan of the feeling of dried gasoline, sweat and blood on him either. Luckily, only the sweat is his own. He leaves his earpiece on the shelf above the bathroom sink.

John showers quickly, dropping his suit haphazardly in the hamper in the bathroom before stepping under the warm spray. He uses Harold’s shampoo and bodywash. A sneaky thrill runs down his spine as he realises he’s going to be able to smell himself tomorrow and smell Harold, almost as if he was with him.  

After towelling himself dry, John automatically looks through the drawers of the dresser opposite the bed, wondering if Harold has clothes stashed for him here as well. He finds a suit for the morning, and more importantly boxers and a t-shirt for tonight. The latter is a little tight, but soft. John suspects it may have actually been Harold’s at some point. The thought sits warmly in his belly.

“What are you reading?” John asks, getting into bed beside Harold. His book looks heavy and less interesting than the prospect of cuddling. John sidles up to Harold, one arm reaching over his stomach as his feet move too tangle with Harold’s.

“Your feet are rather cold,” Harold complains.

“Guess you’ll just have to help warm them up,” John says, laying his head down on a pillow. His breath fans against the shell of Harold’s ear in a way that can’t be entirely comfortable.

“John,” Harold says and closes his book. John smiles.

Harold gives him a withering look as he puts his book and glasses on the bedside table, but it’s softened by an upturned corner of his lips. He clicks the light off and slides under the covers completely, automatically turning on his side. They’re face to face.

As John’s eyes adjust to the dark, he can make out Harold’s features in the soft light that streams through the too thin curtains. John makes a mental note to nag Harold to replace them with safer, thicker ones in the morning and sticks his face into the hollow of Harold’s neck. “Missed you last night.”

“You too.” Harold kisses him on the top of his head.

They stay like that for a few minutes, John breathing evenly and appreciating the feeling of having another human being hold him close. To him, the feeling is synonymous with being with Harold.

“I was reading Dickens.” Harold says, his voice a little muffled. John leans back to hear him better.

“Again?” John asks. To be honest, he finds Harold’s love of Dickens endearing, even if he doesn’t understand it.

“His books are more compelling than you give them credit for,” Harold says. He rubs John’s ankle with a foot and John’s pleased to realise he has, in fact, warmed up.

“Great Expectations: a young boy is poor until he receives a fortunate, yet he still can’t marry the rich woman he fell in love with as a child. And it’s very long winded,” John says.

“It asks the question of whether one had to be born a gentleman to be truly considered one. It questions the exclusiveness of the upper class in Britain at the time, and ultimately, our ability to change our destinies.”

“I don’t believe in destiny,” John says, pressing a kiss to the tip of Harold’s nose.

“Me neither,” Harold smiles. “All we can do is our best.”

John tries not to think of all the ways a person’s best– _his best_ –isn’t enough in the end. He meets Harold’s eyes and it grounds him. There isn’t anything more either of them can do, not right now, not really. They’d saved their last number. And right now, all John has to do is exist, and let himself be happy in the time they get to share before the world comes calling again.

“Maybe we won’t get a number tomorrow,” John says gently, rubbing his thumb over Harold’s hipbone.

“Unlikely,” Harold says, tiredly.

“But it would be nice. We could go back to bed.”

“I could finish my book,” Harold says and threads his fingers through John’s.

“I’ll read to you,” John promises.

“Even though Dickens makes you fall asleep?” Harold asks, teasing.

“One time,” John says and pouts. “I was on some pretty strong painkillers.”

“That’s what they all say.” Harold leans forward and John meets him there, lips sliding against each other with the ease of familiarity. John’s warm, he’s wrapped up in a duvet that smells lovely and is kissing the love of his life. It almost feels too good to be true. John pushes thoughts of what he deserves, of what he’s done, aside and concentrates on making Harold shiver beneath him with calculated licks of his tongue.

They trade kisses for a while. John strokes the side of Harold’s face, the feeling of his emerging stubble still leaving John a little giddy. The fact that he gets to see Harold like this still feels like something precious. Harold holds onto John’s shoulder, his grip sure yet gentle.

They keep kissing, but their kisses get slower and softer, until John is left chasing Harold’s lips as he rolls over. John playfully keeps kissing him under the corner of his jaw, then his ear, and finally the nape of his neck. John likes how the short hairs there tickle.

“I’m too tired for more than that,” Harold says.

“I know,” John replies. “I just like kissing you.”

Harold chuckles. “Tomorrow, if there’s time.” John squirms a little at the thought of being able to kiss Harold as much as he likes, where he likes, for hours on end.

“If not, the day after.”

“Maybe you’ll take me out to dinner,” Harold muses, a little sleepily.

“And a movie with subtitles.”

“You spoil me,” Harold says, pressing back into John, encouraging him to curl around him. John does just that, resting one of his palms over Harold’s heart.

“Good,” John says.

Harold rubs a hand over John’s forearm. “How many undamaged suits do you have left? I think we might need to order some more.”

“Six,” John says. “And two pairs of pants without matching jackets.”

“Hm, we should order you some more.”

“When there’s time,” John agrees. “Or you could just pick for me again.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I like your choices,” John smiles, and presses a few slobbery kisses to the back of Harold’s neck. Harold threads their finger together and presses a kiss against them.

“Is there anything you would change? If you could choose,” Harold asks, a few minutes later. John’s eyes are drooping, but he’s awake enough to hear the quiet question.

“Maybe we could have more frequent days off. But generally, no. I don’t know if people will ever stop murdering each other, but it’s good to be there to prevent some of them, at least.” Harold’s silent.

“Or did you mean about my suits?” John asks. “Nothing I’d change there either.” He likes wearing things Harold has picked out for him. It makes him feel cared for, special even.

Harold hums in reply. John closes his eyes, breathing in the smell of Harold’s pyjamas. Soon he’s drifting off to sleep, content.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey Reese. You busy?”

It’s Shaw. She’s managed to creep up behind him as he replaces the bulbs in a more disused part of the library. He’s already cleaned the floors and swept the shelves for dust.

“Not particularly,” John turns to face her.

“Got a new number while you were peacocking. This kid has a hit out on her. Fusco gave us a lead on a bar where the sleazebags responsible hang out. Want to be my backup?”

“Sure.” John offers her a half smile and rolls his sleeves down. He had done most of the legwork on their last couple of missions, after all. “I’ll buy you a sandwich after.”

“Make it two,” Shaw says, already walking away from him.

He packs the ladder back into the closet with the cleaning supplies and other household junk, then makes his way through the stacks to where Harold is typing away on his keyboard. John takes his favourite piece out of its draw and slides it in his waistband.

“I’m going to follow that lead up with Shaw.”

Harold looks at him after a few seconds, his typing grinding to a halt. “You’ll be careful, I trust?”

John soaks up Harold’s slight smile like a plant reaching for sunlight. “We will, don’t worry.”

“I’m driving,” Shaw says as she feeds Bear a few treats.

“Wasn’t going to try,” John replies, holding his hands up in surrender. They leave the library and get in a sleek black car a few blocks away, a leftover from their last mission.

At the bar, Shaw takes her time, letting her pent up energy out. John leans in the doorway, exchanging idle chatter with Finch and making sure none of them got away.

“You ever read Asimov?” Finch asks, sounding only a little distracted.

“Not really. He wrote about robots, right?”

“Some of his work is about them, yes,” Harold replies.

“Want a go?” Shaw interrupts, a line of blood dripping from her nose and falling past her smile.

John flicks his fingers in a gesture of _all yours_.

“I was just thinking, you might enjoy it more than Dickens,” Harold continues.

Shaw calls Carter when they’re done. “Got some no good doers wrapped up for you, Carter.” Shaw’s taking off her coat and is stretching as she holds the phone.

“Oh? I think Finch might have something in mind for that.”

John is on the receiving end of her raised eyebrows and he relays her sentiments to Harold.

“I’ve almost finished,” Harold replies. “And I’ll start looking for the elusive Jackson Green.”

“Thanks Finch.” John gives the guy who tries to make a grab for Shaw’s leg on their way out a hearty kick to the gut.

“I’ll call you tonight then,” Shaw says, her voice downright flirtatious. She hangs up. John waits until they’re in the car to say anything.

“So, Carter,” John says.

“What about her?” Shaw says, brushing her hair that had gotten loose in the fight out of her face.

John’s reminded of when Shaw had first questioned him about Carter on a rooftop. Now, it’s like their positions are reversed. “Where are you taking her?”

“Taking her?” Shaw asks, her voice a monotone.

“I think she’d appreciate a date. You should take her somewhere nice, fancy but not too fancy.”

“What makes you think I need dating advice.” They’re at a red light. Shaw turns her head to bore her dark eyes into John’s.

“Nothing,” John says, aware that he’s on thin ice. “I just know what her favourite restaurant is.” He blinks, all innocence, but Shaw just continues to give him the stink eye. John wonders if he’s going to regret this the next time they sparr.

Shaw’s eyes return to the road when the light changes. The streets of New York slide by, so many people who could all be their next number.

“Which restaurant?” Shaw says curtly as they pull up in a different spot than the one they left from.

“I’ll send you the address.”

Shaw sits for a moment, not looking at John. “Do you have any other advice?”

“Just be yourself,” John says in his signature amused lilt. All the same, he’s serious. He’s fond of Sameen. Her profile is half hidden behind her hair, but John thinks she’s smiling as they get out the car.

They make their way back to the library, walking in sync.

“Can’t he tell this guy’s ripping him off?” Shaw mutters as they pass a guy selling Rolexes. John can tell they’re imitations from a few feet away, meaning they can’t be that good.

“I’d tattle to Fusco, but he’ll probably have moved by the time he gets here.”

“There’s a food truck at the end of the road, maybe he’d forgive you,” Shaw quips.

“I’ve not forgotten about your sandwiches.” John buys her two from the truck, as promised. He buys them both a bottle of water. Shaw finishes the first one by the time they reach the library, and saves the second sandwich for later.

“Did Carter get our package?” Johns asks, leaning over Harold’s shoulder. He gives him a sneaky peck on the cheek.

“Yes, though she wasn’t entirely pleased.”

“I’ll make it up to her,” Shaw says. “Any leads yet?”

“I’ve located our hitman,” Harold says. “Fusco’s on his way to collect him now.”

“I’ll see you boys tomorrow then. Call me if there’s a new number before that.” She leaves after getting her face licked extensively by Bear.

“I believe we can still catch an afternoon showing, Mr. Reese,” Harold says, looking at him.

“It’s a date,” John smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Harold wakes, the first thing he sees is a close up of John’s face: the top of his nose, the sharp corners of his cheekbones, his pretty eyes and a few locks of hair that hang down over his forehead. Harold starts, and reaches for where John’s shoulder should be with his hand.

John moves back. He’s laying over Harold, holding himself up on his forearms, naked from the waist up.

“Must you do that?” Harold complains, rubbing his eyes.

“I was trying to see if you were still asleep,” John says, his voice amused.

Harold doubts that it’s a method the army or the CIA taught him. “I’m awake now.”

They make out for a while, sloppily and with morning breath. Then, when Harold’s stomach makes itself heard, John rolls off the bed with a sly smile and goes to get breakfast.

It’s pleasant, having a morning routine with John. They eat, dress and leave John’s apartment together. He gets the call for their next number as John’s getting tea for him, coffee for himself and Shaw.

“Mr. Reese, we have a new number.”

John nods and they head towards the library. Harold calls Shaw as they walk. “Ms. Shaw?”

“Yes, Finch.” Her voice is low and measured, strikingly different from John’s but still similar. Maybe he should ask John if it’s part of standard training. There are quite a few gaps from that time in John’s life Harold would, eventually, like to hear more about.

“We have a new number,” Harold says.

“Will you buy me breakfast?” Harold can hear Bear’s claws scrabbling against the floor of Shaw’s apartment in the background.

“What would you like?” Harold tries to be accommodating.

“Waffles,” Shaw decides.

Harold asks John if he would be so kind. John pops into the next place selling them they see, and Harold waits outside.

“Thanks for letting me take care of Bear,” Shaw says suddenly. Her words echo back to him over his earpiece. He disconnects the call before turning around, frowning.

“But then again, it’s not like you’ve been lacking an attack dog to take care of you,” Shaw says, smirking a little.

Harold sighs. “He enjoys your company,” Harold says, reply to her first comment, ignoring the second. He reaches to rub Bear’s head affectionately. “Though I hope you’re not spoiling him too badly.”

“Don’t worry. His cholesterol levels are safe with me.”

“You don’t let him on the bed, do you?” Harold asks, suspecting that she does.

Shaw crouches to put her arms around Bear, rubbing her cheek into his fur. “He likes to cuddle.” They both look up at him with big eyes.

“So does someone else I can think of,” John says, right in his ear so that Shaw can’t hear. Harold shoots him a glare before holding out a hand for Bear’s leash.

Shaw gives it to him, but only to snatch the bag with her waffles from John.

“These are good,” she says through a mouthful.

“I made sure they put extra cream on them,” John says, scanning the street.

Shaw nods her thanks. Later, she lends him her rifle, insisting that John should have cleaned his more recently if he was going to use it. They save the number and the worst of their collectively sustained injuries amount to a few bruises. It’s a good day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

““Hey Fusco,” Sameen says, walking up to Fusco’s desk. Bear trots along beside her, earning a few raised eyebrow as they go.

“Sunshine, what can I do for you?” Fusco asks, looking at her over his glasses. He’s three cups of coffee deep in a new case, judging from the rings in his mug.

“I need some information,” Sameen says. Recon. She dumps fresh falafel on his desk.

“Thanks, but I have a job, too, you know. I can’t always be digging around for you guys.” He smells the falafel and smiles.

“Don’t worry, it won’t take long.” Sameen feels Bear nose at her leg.

“Let me at least say hello to your better half properly,” Fusco sighs. He stands and moves to crouch down beside Bear. He scratches him behind the ears.

“Brave hond,” Fusco says, grinning as Bear gives one of his hands an affectionate lick.

“Are you done?” Sameen asks after another minute.

“Okay, okay.” Fusco sits down again. “What do you need now?”

“It’s about Carter,” Sameen says.

“Carter? She’s not in danger is she?” Fusco’s already standing again, almost spilling his coffee over the growing pile of manila folders on his desk.

“She not in danger,” Sameen says, the words grating against each other a little.

Fusco sits again, more relieved than annoyed. "So, what about Carter?”

Sameen hesitates. "Do you know what her favourite flowers are?"

"What?" To his credit, Fusco’s mouth doesn’t hang open for long.

Sameen leans forward. "Her favourite flowers."

"No need to get all menacing,” Fusco says, not looking at all menaced. “Orchids are always good." In fact, he looks like he's out of his depth.

"Orchids, really?"

"She likes purple. What about lavender? That smells good."

Sameen honestly doesn't know what she had been expecting. "Thanks Fusco." Maybe something purple that smelled good was the right way to go. Then again, 'smells good' is a good way to describe most flowers. Sameen shakes her head as she leaves.

Maybe she should just have asked Finch. He’s big on romance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Aw, that’s so romantic,” Root coos. She watches the two women with renewed interest as the Machine whispers in her ear. She tells Root about how they met, about their first date, about how they’re both thinking of proposing soon.

Root swallows another mouthful of noodles and returns her attention to the screen in front of her. It’s a different restaurant every night, but her mission is the same.

“Back to work,” Root mutters, her painted nails flying over the keyboard, the Machine talking to her as she works.

She directs Root towards Decima’s latest and most dangerous activities. Today Root had arranged an explosion at a factory–a non lethal one, of course. Best case scenario? It would buy them nine days and thirteen hours. She had informed her that it would probably only amount to a week. Another source would be found, and the government would continue to work on their newer, faster chip.

Root finishes her meal, tips well and returns to the hotel room the Machine had booked her. She showers, brushes her teeth, and lays down in the bed. It’s not even that lumpy.

“Talk to me?” Root asks, curled up on herself in the dark.

“ _You need rest_.”

“Just for a little bit,” Root assures her.

The Machine whispers all sorts of secrets of the 21st century into her ear. Root sinks under the covers, a contented sigh falling from her lips. Working for Her can be exhausting, but Root wouldn’t have it any other way.

“What about the Arpanet hacker?” Root asks drowsily.

“ _You have met him_.”

“I have?” Root wonders. She thinks for a while and the Machine waits. “Is it Harry?”

“ _Yes._ ” Of course it would be him. “ _Sleep._ ”

Root smiles and lets herself fall asleep. The Machine will wake her when it’s time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her systems are multitudinous, and Root's mission isn't the only one she’s overseeing. Northern Lights still get their numbers. She knows they will save lives, despite the cost. But that is their decision to make.

Right now, she's using most of her processing power to determine admin’s and her asset's progress with their latest number.

_Admin: 0.01% chance of imminent violence._

_Asset Shaw: 78.8% chance of imminent violence, 12% chance of sustaining serious injury. 0.03% chance of fatal injury._

_Asset Reese: 84% chance of imminent violence, 23.1% chance of sustaining serious injury. 2.02% chance of fatal injury._

Reese and Shaw engage their current number, a perpetrator, violently. As the risk to them sinks, Her processes became just a little more smooth, her servers running just a little less hotly.

She checks on Admin again, the camera in his phone showing her mainly his chin and nostrils. _Admin: 0.01% chance of imminent violence, 56.32% chance of violence in the next month._ He is safe. For now, at least.

She receives an alert. Decima is on the move again. Her assets appear to be handling things on their own; their chance at a successful mission is at 88%. Chance of injury, 9.5%.

She tracks the Decima agents and begins to count down to when her Analogue Interface has rested sufficiently, weighing the need for her rest against the urgency of the situation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Good evening detective," Harold says, polite as ever.

"What is it, Finch?" Joss sighs, resting her head on her hand. It’s been a long day.

"We've got a perpetrator for you. Bert Schneider. He tried to kill his business partner and her wife."

Joss sighs. "Sounds nasty. Have John and Shaw got him secured?"

"Yes. You'll be receiving quite a paper trail for his misdemeanour tomorrow."

"Anonymously?" It's a rhetorical question, really.

"Of course," Finch says.

"I appreciate it," Joss says. "It's good to know you're out there, even though our methods..."

"Vary?" Finch supplied.

"You could say that,” Joss says, snorting. “A grenade launcher in daylight is not exactly police protocol.”

Harold hums in agreement. "You know, we're happy to help you in any way we can, detective."

"Also appreciated." She's smiling now. "It's good to know I have some friends on my side." Joss glances at the clock on her dashboard. Her shift's almost over. "So, where is this guy?"

"I'll text you the address. Shaw will wait for your arrival, detective. John has... other business to attend to."

"I'll bring the perp in, Finch, don't worry. Enjoy your evening.” She buckles her seat belt.

"Thank you. You too, detective."

"Oh, I will. My DVR is loaded. Just me, some ice cream, my couch... it's a sure thing."

"I wouldn't be quite so sure."

"Oh?" Joss enquires, but Harold has already signed off, mysterious to a fault sometimes.

That Sameen rides back with her to the station isn't weird in itself, but the awkward thumbs up Fusco gives her when she says hey to him are. It makes sense when she returns from checking their perp into holding and sees the flowers Sameen has for her.

"Flowers?" Joss smiles, taking them. "Are these really your style, Sameen?"

"I thought you might appreciate them."

"I do. They're lovely. Thank you." Joss leans forward, the sweet scent of lavender caressing her as she pecks Sameen's lips.

"Want to lay on my couch and watch TV?" Joss asks, too tired for anything more than a quiet night in. She hopes Sameen hasn't planned anything.

"Can we make out?" Sameen asks, her smile wide and charming.

Joss giggles. "Yes."

"Deal," Sameen says. They walk together, elbows brushing against each other. Every few minutes Joss sniffs her flowers, a fresh smile blossoming on her face as she does.

Back at her apartment, she changes out of her uniform and into sweats, not missing how Sameen eyes her boobs through her somewhat translucent shirt.

"Feel free to remove your bra, too," Joss smirks.

Sameen, without hesitating, does just that. They turn the TV on, but ultimately, they're too wrapped up in each other to pay much attention to it. Sameen is warm beneath her; her hair is soft, but her lips are softer. They neck like teenagers, slowly learning the ins and outs of how the other likes to be kissed.

"Not a bad second date, huh?" Joss says, her lips raw from kissing. Sameen cocks an eyebrow and leans up to kiss her again.

“Could be worse,” Sameen agrees.

“You know what would make this perfect?” Joss asks, a sly smile on her face. “Ice cream.”

Sameen licks her lips.

“Good thing I have some. Do you want chocolate fudge or watermelon?”

Sameen kisses her again before answering. “You choose, I’ll have the same.”

“Chocolate fudge it is,” Joss smiles. She scoops generous portions into bowls for them and returns to the couch. Unable to eat and make out at the same time, Joss rewinds the episode to the start and curls up, inviting Sameen to cuddle up to her a bit with a raised eyebrow.

Sameen hesitates, but sits beside her, their thighs touching. She slowly lowers her head onto Joss’ shoulder and Joss doesn’t dare move lest she disturbs her. Despite the fact that this is only their second date, it feels so _right._

Sameen finished her ice cream first, her spoon scraping against the porcelain. Joss misses the warmth of Sameen’s head on her shoulder when Sameen leans forward to put her bowl on the table, but she resumes her former position–well almost: Sameen starts nuzzling at the corner of her jaw in between pressing soft kisses to the side of Joss’ neck.

“Guess you’re not completely riveted by the detective’s case, either,” Joss deadpans.

“No. And the gunfire isn’t realistic either.” Sameen’s breath puffs against Joss’ ear as she talks.

“True.” Joss finishes her ice cream and places her bowl next to Sameen’s. Hands latch onto her sides as she leans back, then Sameen swings a leg over her thighs and straddles her.

“Where were we?” Sameen asks, pulling the tie out of her hair.

“Right here,” Joss answers. She presses her lips against Sameen’s, taking care that their noses don’t bump together. It doesn’t take long for Sameen to deepen the kiss, and Joss spends the better part of the next hour kissing her way to bliss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Joss wakes the next morning, Sameen is gone, but the scent of lavender fills her apartment. She gets breakfast for herself and Taylor.

“Your date last night was pretty,” is all Taylor says about the night before. He’d come home to find them washing up together.

Joss decides to drop by to see Fusco on her way to work. He greets her with a fresh cup of coffee and a smile.

“You look happy Carter. ‘Spect the date went well last night, then?” He says, leaning against his desk, almost sitting on that creepy policeman doll of his.

“Yes.” Joss sips her coffee. It’s made just how she likes it. “How’d you know about that?”

“How come it feels like everyone is always forgetting I’m a detective, too?”

Joss laughs. “No harm meant, Fusco. It was nice.” She smiles, remembering the feeling of Sameen against her, exchanging slightly sleepy kisses as the TV droned in the background.

“Got a new case,” Fusco says, unmoving. Joss swallows, suddenly hyperaware of her officer’s uniform.

“It’s not the same without you,” Fusco continues. That softens the blow. “I miss you, partner.”

“You too, Fusco.” Joss’s smile feels too tight for her face but she’s telling the truth. “I have a rookie to go pick up.”

Fusco gives her a sympathetic look. “You putting him through his paces?” She admires his seemingly bottomless pit of bravado and expressions. He’s a good partner, kind and loyal. Not to mention the respect with which he treats her. Even as a detective, she’d had to fight harder for that than she should have to.

“You bet I am.” Joss’s smile feels easier now.

“He puke yet?”

“Oh yeah.” The memory’s far away enough that she can laugh about it.

“Puked three times, me,” Fusco admits. Joss is surprised. “Not once since.”

“Surprising, with all that street meat you eat,” Joss teases.

“Hey, don’t knock the street meat. You know you miss it.”

“I think I might be starting to,” Joss grimaces, casting a glance behind her at what used to be her desk.

“Eh, we’ll get you back, don’t worry. I’m in your corner, always.” He’s standing now, and looks as if he wants to touch her elbow or shoulder consolingly.

“I appreciate it, partner.” She leaves, happy despite the trying day she knows is waiting for her. 


End file.
